Lucy was already crying when Steven woke up.

  It wasn’t loud—just a quiet, shaking sound, her back turned to him under the blanket, shoulders trembling.

  He blinked, groggy, disoriented for the half-second it always took to remember they weren’t home. That there was no home. Just this barn, some itchy straw, and a world that didn’t even know their names.

  He scooted closer and placed a hand gently on her arm.

  “Hey,” he whispered. “You okay?”

  She sniffed and wiped her face with the edge of the blanket. “No.”

  Steven gave her a moment.

  “I had a dream we were back at the cottage,” she said. “The fire was crackling, Dad was snoring, and Mom was humming while she made cocoa. It felt so normal.”

  He didn’t speak. He let her have the silence.

  Lucy turned to face him, eyes red. “They're gone, aren’t they? Everyone. Mom and Dad. The whole world.”

  Steven swallowed. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I think so.”

  She nodded, eyes glistening. “What are we supposed to do now?”

  “We figure it out,” Steven said. “Together. Every step, every choice, we do it side by side. That’s how we survive.”

  Lucy stared at him, then gave the smallest, broken smile. “You’re not allowed to die.”

  Steven grinned. “Not planning on it.”

  Outside, the soft clatter of harness buckles and the stamp of hooves signaled John was already at work. Steven helped Lucy to her feet, and the two of them stepped into the cool morning light.

  John had hitched his horse to the wagon and was loading the last of his goods—herbs, cloth, and bundles of grain.

  “Breakfast is cold stew unless you want to gnaw on a carrot,” he said without turning.

  “Hard to believe we used to order breakfast burritos by app,” Steven muttered.

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  “Briarton’s a couple hours’ ride,” John said. “You’ll want to be awake for it.”

  The wagon rumbled down the dirt road, the horse plodding at a patient pace. The fields blurred past in golden hues as the sun rose higher. The air carried a slight chill, the kind that hinted at seasons changing.

  Steven sat on the edge of the cart bed, elbows resting on his knees. “So how does money work in this place? Assuming we’re not bartering roosters for bread.”

  John chuckled. “Kingdom currency’s standardized. Five coins: iron, bronze, silver, gold, and platinum. Each worth a hundred of the one before it. Iron buys basics—bread, cheap tools. Bronze pays for supplies, rooms, boots. Silver’s for trade goods and decent gear. Gold’s for land or high-end enchantments. Platinum? Most folks never see one.”

  Lucy blinked. “And the average person makes…?”

  “Five bronze a week if they’re lucky. Enough to get by. Barely.”

  Steven raised an eyebrow. “So we’re broke and invisible.”

  John grinned. “Exactly.”

  As the road curved over a ridge, Briarton came into view—a walled town built along a slow-moving river, with narrow stone bridges crisscrossing water channels that fed into fields beyond.

  Stone and timber buildings crowded inside the perimeter, their steep, tiled roofs leaning into each other like old friends. Most were two stories tall with wooden balconies, shingled signs swinging above doors, and colorful banners draped across shopfronts.

  It looked—Steven realized—like something straight out of a history museum. Except real. Lived-in. Muddy in the streets. Laundry drying from upper windows. Chimneys puffing out thin smoke trails into the morning air.

  People bustled through the main gate, most on foot, some on carts, and all of them dressed in long tunics, cloaks, or rugged leatherwork. What caught Steven’s attention weren’t the clothes, but the small emblems sewn onto nearly everyone’s sleeves or collars.

  Lucy leaned in. “Those symbols...”

  “Guild marks,” John said. “Briarton has a dozen or so local guilds—some with ties to national ones. You wear your guild’s emblem once you’re accepted.”

  “And if you don’t have one?” Steven asked.

  “You’re nobody,” John said flatly. “Guilds give you access. Reputation. Work. Without one, you’ll have to prove yourself everywhere, over and over.”

  “So no class, no Interface, no guild…,” Steven said, counting on his fingers. “We’re starting at the bottom of the bottom.”

  John nodded. “And you’ll feel it. Town guards won’t give you time of day. Merchants will upcharge. Healers won’t take you seriously. Guilds give you standing. Without them, you're just mouths to feed.”

  They entered through the open gates. Guards in dark blue tabards with a lion insignia stood watch, but didn’t stop them. The moment they were through, the sounds of Briarton swallowed them—vendors calling out morning specials, the clang of metal from a smithy, the laughter of children chasing a rolling hoop down the cobbled road.

  Steven took it all in slowly. The colors. The grime. The reality of it.

  “Next stop’s the Interface crystal,” John said, guiding the cart down a side street. “It’s in the town square.”

  Lucy sat up straighter, nervous energy crackling in her shoulders. “What if it doesn’t work?”

  John looked over. “Then we ask questions. And if it does? That’s where your new lives begin.”